Detention
by An Old User
Summary: Strangers With Candy Fic. Discipline gets in the way of everything. ChuckGeoffrey


Title: Detention

Rating: PG-13 (For swearing and a bit of pain)

Summary: Discipline gets in the way of everything.

Pairings: Chuck/Geoffrey

Word Count: 3,294

Disclaimer: I don't own Strangers With Candy, and I'm not making any money off of this fanfic. It is a celebration of joy, and you can bet your boots that this little fan will be making you a few dollars when/if the merchandise comes out. Besides, this fic is protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and it is not intended to infringe upon any copywrited material. So if you still have power to smite me, please don't.

There's a reason that teachers shy away from detentions. In fact, only the most dedicated will stick to their rules about punishment. And as much as Chuck Noblet hated his students, it usually wasn't enough to break out the detention slips.

Don't think that it was out of any odd sense of mercy. Don't waste your time entertaining ideas of hidden kindness. Chuck did hate the kids as much as they hated him. So, you'll understand that his reluctance to hold someone after school was for purely selfish reasons.

You see, when a teacher gives a student a detention, not only is it a punishment for the student, but a major inconvenience for the teacher. After all, the teacher has to stay behind and watch the student; he has to make sure that they aren't having a bit of fun.

This knowledge, once realized, can be quite a boon to a student's mischievous ways. The kid can go on with whatever they want to do, so long as it doesn't aggravate the teacher too much. Key words: too much. Just because someone is reluctant to shoot doesn't mean that they won't if provoked. And, if provoked, Chuck Noblet would definitely shoot. Or give a detention. The papers and the gun were right next to each other in the desk.

It was a bright spring day outside. It was unseasonably warm, and the school had not yet turned on the air conditioners. Every classroom had their windows propped open, hoping to catch a mercifully cool breeze. Obligingly, a puff of wind blew across the history classroom, scattering notebook papers and ruffling carefully styled hair.

Chuck Noblet was able to enjoy neither the relief from the heat nor the satisfaction of seeing his class in disarray. One student, sitting in the back of the room, had lost nothing in the mess, as she had not had anything on her desk to begin with. Her heavy bag was zipped and tucked under her desk, safe from the chaos above. The only possession she had taken time to remove was a gaudy pink gel pen, a pen that had been drawing the classroom pictures of presidents for- Chuck checked the clock- 38 minutes now. This student was, without a doubt, his least favorite. This student was Jerri Blank.

Chuck glared at her, trying to catch her attention, but she took no notice, instead continuing to restore Andrew Jackson's hidden (and now grotesquely enlarged) body parts. As the students finally got their papers in order, Chuck called out a stern "Jerri!" to no effect. He reached behind his desk, grabbed an eraser from the chalkboard, and pelted it at her, but the tool, like his words and glares, was incapable of breaching her thick skull. His anger mounted, and he tried to dispel it by planning a pop quiz for the next day. But when the pink pen scratched out the words "Mr. Noblet is a fag," over the forehead of President Nixon, Chuck could not keep his mouth shut.

"Jerri Blank, see me after class to discuss your detention."

That got her interest. Jerri rolled her eyes and tossed her pen onto the desk. It cracked, and having no other materials at hand, Jerri mopped the pink ink up with her sweater. Luckily enough (or unluckily, depending on your fashion tastes), her shirt matched the ink, making the soiled shirt indistinguishable from its clean appearance.

Chuck finished his lesson on McCarthyism, and when the bell rang, he caught Jerri before she could leave.

"Listen. About your detention: I want to see you in this room after school." He pulled out his pad of detention slips out of the desk and filled one out. "You've earned an hour of quality time with me."

Grimacing inward and outwardly at the thought of another hour with Jerri, he handed over the slip. Jerri ripped it away and stuffed it in her pocket. Finding that her obscenely tight pants had no pockets, she shoved the paper down her pants. As if recovering from such a potentially mortifying moment, she narrowed her eyes, tipped her head, and readied an attack. "An hour, with you?"

Chuck kept up his poker face. "That's what I said."

"Well, if you need so much time with me, you oughtta take a picture, It'll last longer. Better yet, make a video." A nostalgic smile crossed her face. "Wouldn't be my first one. Good times…"

"Jerri!" Chuck broke her reverie. "As great a punishment as this is for you, believe me when I say it is doubly so for me."

"Yeah, right." Jerri said, walking out into the hallway, "this means I'll miss auditions for Bagpipe Club. I bet you don't have anything important after school."

Chuck's face was downcast. In the privacy of the now empty classroom, he muttered, "I **did** have something important."

"What!"

No doubt about it. Geoffrey was going to scream.

"I'm gonna _scream_!"

Yup. Chuck called that one.

Chuck tried to calm the irate art teacher. "Geoffrey, I didn't say that I couldn't come, I just said that I'd be a little late."

Geoffrey was not moved. Currently, he was riled up, and seemed ready to ride his anger to its dramatic finish. Currently, he paced the art room, a wet brush in hand. He had been in the middle of cleaning it when he got the news, and now droplets of orange paint and water flicked whenever he gestured. Which was a lot. "No, it doesn't work like that! It'll take a good hour to drive to the theater. On top of that, I made dinner reservations for five o'clock, Chuck. Five!"

Chuck dodged a spray of color, and regrouped. "So we leave at four. That's when the detention gets over."

"Anything could happen to delay that! We could have car trouble, or there could be traffic, or a troupe of migrating bison could-"

"Geoffrey! You're getting worked up over nothing. We're supposed to have fun tonight, and you will, whether you like it or not."  
Geoffrey stopped flinging his arms about, and the paintbrush became considerably less dangerous. "You promise?"

Chuck gave him a gentle smile. "Have I ever broken a promise to you?"

Geoffrey thought. It didn't take much time. "Yes."

"Errrrm," Chuck tried again, retaining the pleasant smile. "Have I ever missed a date before?"

"Dozens of times, Chuck."

The smile was plastered on now, and had lost something of its gentleness and pleasantry. "Have I ever broken a promise that I wouldn't be late for dinner and a show because I'd be out of detention, that I'd be in this art room precisely at four to pick you up and get driving, knowing full well that neither schoolwork nor troupes of migrating bison would make me late?"

Geoffrey thought. This one took considerably more time, but the answer was to his liking. His face brightened, and his grin shone up at Chuck. "No, no you haven't."

Chuck's smile was legit again. He opened his arms wide and smiled, asking, "Then what do you have to worry about?"

Geoffrey continued beaming. "Nothing!"

The two embraced, Geoffrey happy that the situation was solved, Chuck happy to have averted one of the art teacher's tantrums. Geoffrey snuggled up to Chuck, sighing contentedly. "I've been planning this for a month. I guess I just got a little freaked out that it wouldn't go well."

Chuck gave the younger man a small squeeze, and planted his hand in Geoffrey's hair, twirling errant locks around his fingers. "Don't worry. Things are sure to go wrong if you do."

Geoffrey pulled away from Chuck. "What?"

Oh, no. The moment had been so nice, too. Time to backtrack, stop this train of thought before Geoffrey had the wrong idea. "I mean, if you're spending all your time on stupid stuff like that-"

Geoffrey's face wrinkled into an angry pout. "So the plans I've been spending time on are stupid?"

Shit. Now he did have the wrong idea. "Geoffrey, even if your plans _are_ stupid, that's not what I meant."

"There. You said it yourself. The plans I've been spending time on are stupid?"

"No! Stop it. The idea that I think your ideas are stupid is stupid!"  
"Which idea, Chuck? Mine or yours?"

"Yours! Your idea that my idea that your ideas are-"

Enter Tammi Littlenut.

Both teachers stopped their arguing and took a step away from each other. Geoffrey's smile stretched to his ears in an attempt to cover embarrassment at being caught. Chuck covered by not looking at the girl.

Geoffrey walked towards the sink, and tossed the wet brush in. "Well, what brings you back to my art room, Tammi?"

The redhead registered minimal surprise at the odd behavior of her two teachers. "Oh, I was just hoping to get that kilt sculpture I was doing. The Bagpipe Club needs decorations tonight for auditions."

Pleased to have more business to draw focus away from him and Chuck, Geoffrey headed toward the back of the room. "You're in luck. I just fired it last period." He opened the kiln and reached in. "It's right in here."  
Tammi raised her hand a little, a look of concern on her face. "Mr. Jellineck, doesn't it need time to-"

"OOOOWWWW!"  
"-cool?"

Geoffrey yanked his singed hand away. His fingers burned red, and white blisters were already forming at the tips. Tears started to form in his glassy eyes as he stared at it. Geoffrey seemed unable to do anything but stand there, staring stupidly at his hand.

Chuck grabbed a clean paint rag, and ran toward the sink. "Why the hell would you do that?" His words were angry, his tone bitter, but his actions and the look on his face betrayed how worried he was. "Stupid…" He doused the rag under the faucet, then wrapped it carefully around Geoffrey's hand. Chuck readied a tirade of abuse, hoping to hide his emotions in it, but a glance at the pitiful look on Geoffrey's face deflated his rage. He took a steadying breath. "Where's the first aid kit?"

Geoffrey blinked away his tears, but more welled up quickly. He rocked back and forth on his heels, humming in an effort to divert the pain. "I used it up. Sliced the bandages for paper maché. The box is still there for show, though."

Chuck shook his head in disbelief, and turned to Tammi. "Go find a kit that still has its supplies." The girl nodded obediently and ran off.

The girl's absence was perfect timing, for Geoffrey had reached his breaking point. "AAAAAGGGGGGHHHHH!"

Cue Scene.

"Son of a- AAAGGHH! My hand! My HAAAANNND!" He latched onto Chuck with his unburnt hand. He clutched the shoulder of Chuck's shirt, wrinkling the fabric. Chuck grabbed Geoffrey around the waist, supporting him before his fell and took half of Chuck's shirt with him. He slowly sank down, until he and Geoffrey were kneeling. Geoffrey buried his face into Chuck's chest and sobbed. Chuck held him close, awkwardly wondering how to comfort him. He settled with a kiss, gently planted into the curly locks on Geoffrey's head. The crying softened into a sniffle, so Chuck added another kiss for good measure.

"C'mon, Geoffrey, stop crying. We'll get your hand bandaged and go out to dinner tonight." He tilted Geoffrey's face towards his own, and tried to smile one more time. "Okay?"

Geoffrey managed one incredibly painful looking smile. "You got it." His gaze descended, and stopped on Chuck's lips. "Until Tammi gets back with-" he blanched, and Chuck could feel Geoffrey's injured hand twitch on his back- "the painkillers, I'm going-" another grimace and intake of breath- "something to keep my mind off the pain."

"Funny," Chuck said, leaning forward and closing his eyes, "I hadn't thought that mind-numbing pain could be used as an aphrodisiac."

Geoffrey turned his head aside, and their lips barely brushed. "That's not funny."

The door handle rattled, and Chuck sat up, making a show of wrapping Geoffrey's hand in another towel. His eyes flitted to Geoffrey for a moment, and from the corner of his mouth, he muttered, "Tease."

Tammi returned, holding a first aid kit. Sorry it took so long. No one else this end of the school had a first aid kit. They said they couldn't think of a use for them.

Chuck snatched the kit away and started to bandage Geoffrey's hand. "I'll see you after school. Four O'clock sharp."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I'll check my watch every five minutes."

"You're not wearing one."

Chuck looked at his wrist. "Oh, right. Could I borrow yours?"

"Sure. Ow! Not that hand!"

Chuck hated bagpipes. The incessant wailing, the brash tones, he couldn't stands the noise. Not to mention the fact that they could never stop. There's always that continuous note, supporting the melody, an undercurrent of discomfort and spite towards the listener. But that afternoon, Chuck realized that there was a certain order to the instrument. The brash sound actually had varying color and tone. The seemingly choppy pitch changes were influenced by style. Chuck came to appreciate the skills of a good pipeist.

For it became quickly apparent that Jerri Blank had none. There was no skill, style, order, nothing at all redeemable about her piping. At 3:30, Chuck put a hand to his ear, only to discover that her "music" was literally causing his eardrums to bleed.

Moments later, the bagpipes flew out the window. As they landed, the pipes' final note was not dissimilar to Jerri's own style. It was a fitting end for such an ugly invention.

The silence that followed was bliss. Chuck leaned back, closed his eyes, and allowed himself a smile as he savored the quiet.

"Mr. Noblet?"

The only thing that moved was his face as he grimaced. "What?"

"Can I go get my bagpipes?"

Chuck sat up and tapped his fingers. "Let's think this through. Why are you in detention?"

Her eye twitched. "Because you're an asswipe?"

"No," Chuck stood up and walked, "it's because you disrupted the class." As an afterthought, he added "and because I hate you." He leaned on her desk. "Understand?"

"Can I get my pipes?"

Apparently not.

"Detention is supposed to correct the problem. In your case, disruption. What you suggest would make it infinitely worse."

"But bagpipe music can be soothing-"

"I'd rather press shards of broken glass into my eardrums." He felt the dried blood in his right ear. "It would probably be safer, too."

Jerri stared up earnestly. "If you think it'd help, I've got a broken bottle in my school bag."

Chuck stared back, disbelieving, before losing it.

"Get out. Detention's over. Go away. Bye bye now. Have a great weekend. Don't come back. Not even on Monday."

"You sayin' I can leave early?"

"GET OUT OF HERE!"

Jerri grabbed her bag and ran out of the room.

Chuck skipped down the hall. He was free, Jerri was gone, tests were graded, he was going to show up ten minutes early to his date with Geoffrey, and he was **free.**

"Noblet. I need to talk to you for a minute."

He was trapped. Trapped between a principal and a hard place.

"I heard about your recent disciplinary action. Some teachers drew attention to your detention. Don't worry, there wasn't any pretension or dissention, they would've even supported suspension."

Chuck gave him a blank look.

Blackman clarified. "I wanted to praise your actions. Putting Jerri Blank in detention was just what she needed. Just what all the teachers needed. It'll make her think twice about acting up."

Chuck understood. "Oh, thanks." He eyed the hallway. He needed to get going.

"It was decent of you to give up a free night to discipline Jerri."

Chuck had turned to leave, but turned back. "What? No, I'm actually very busy tonight, so if you'd excuse me…"

Blackman let out a bark of a laugh. "Ha! Funny man, Noblet. But seriously, no one gives detentions unless they're very, truly, bored."

Chuck tried to laugh it off. "Well, not today. I got very angry at Jerri, so-"

"I know how she can get. Every time she enters my office, it equals a half-hour of pain. I can almost feel her incessant chatter pulling the cells from my brain…"

As the principal continued his banter, Chuck snuck a look at Geoffrey's watch. Blackman had already sucked up five minutes of his lead. And he wasn't giving any stopping points in the conversation. Chuck opened up his mouth, trying to get a word in, but Blackman just kept talking. It was clear that he would have to use something subtle to edge himself out of the conversation.

"…yes, indeed, you would never have believed the size of a thing like that. I saw it, and I couldn't believe it could get that big, nor that it could ever fit in her-"

Chuck pointed over Blackman's shoulder, and with a look of sheer surprise on his face, yelled "Oh, my God! It's Mrs. Blank!"

"What?" Blackman's eyes widened. "I need to gel my hair!" He looked behind him, saw no attractive, middle-aged white mother, looked back, and saw no History teacher.

Chuck checked the watch as he ran. Two minutes to run across the school. The students complained that they didn't have enough time between periods to get to their classes. Chuck was forced to identify with them. He passed the dilapidated library and the lunchroom, soared past the gym- wait, was that wrestling? Stopped, got a better look, identified the boys' wrestling team at work, took one last good look, and took off running again.

Less than a minute left now. Chuck ran up a flight of stairs and took off towards the art hallway. Thirty seconds. He tried to stop as he reached the art hallway, lost his balance, and fell over. Fifteen seconds. He ran towards Geoffrey's door. Ten seconds. Hand was on the doorknob. Five seconds. He flung open the door, staggered into the room, and collapsed into the desk, panting.

"Kept…my promise."

Geoffrey breezed over, and kissed Chuck on the cheek. "You certainly did. And ten minutes early, at that."

The Hell? Chuck looked up at the classroom clock. 3:50 He looked down at Geoffrey's watch. 4:00. He held his wrist up so that Geoffrey could see it.

"Your watch says four O'clock."

Geoffrey waved away Chuck's words as he walked over to his desk. "I keep it ten minutes fast. Keeps me on schedule."

Chuck gave him a scathing look. "So I hauled ass up here for nothing?"

Geoffrey feigned confusion as he stuffed the theatre tickets into his wallet. "For nothing, or to be early and keep your promise?"

Chuck weighed his options. "Yeah, I'll go with that."  
Geoffrey grinned and tossed his car keys to Chuck, who awkwardly caught them. "You drive. I was going to, but it looks like these little piggies-" he tried to wiggle his bandaged hand and failed miserably- "won't be doing any driving tonight."

Chuck nodded and stood up. "Fine. Shall we get moving?"

Geoffrey bounced over to him, and grabbed his hand, lacing his fingers between Chuck's. "Let's go!"

As they left the school, they ruined their ten-minute lead searching for Geoffrey's car. When they got driving, Chuck was forced to listen to Geoffrey prattle on about the show. He made short work of the plot and the music, quickly spoiling the ending. Chuck rolled his eyes at Geoffrey's behavior, but grinned as he realized the solution. For the second time today, he was going to have to give someone a detention.

It looked like he'd have to spend a little quality time with Geoffrey after the show.


End file.
